head, standing over her.

She stood back as though she were going to strike him, then suddenly
with a laugh she sprang upon the chair beside her, flung her arms round
his neck and kissed him; then, still standing on the chair, turned and
faced us all.

"Now, that's enough--all of you. Michael, Uncle Ivan, Uncle Alexei,
Durdles--how dare you, all of you? You're all as bad--every one of you.
I'll punish all of you if we have any more politics. Beastly politics!
What do they matter? It's my birthday. My _birthday_, I tell you. It
_shan't_ be spoilt."

She seemed to me so excited as not to know what she was saying. What had
she seen? What did she know?... Meanwhile Grogoff was elated, wildly
pleased like a boy who, contrary to all his expectations, had won a
prize.

He went up to Markovitch with his hand out:

"Nicholas--forgive me--_Prasteete_--I forgot myself. I'm ashamed--my
abominable temper. We are friends. You were right, too. We talk here in
Russia too much, far too much, and when the moment comes for action we
shrink back. We see too far perhaps. Who knows? But you were right and I
am a fool. You've taught me a lesson by your nobility. Thank you,
Nicholas. And all of you--I apologise to all of you."

We moved away from the table. Vera came over to us, and then sat on the
sofa with her arm around Nina's neck. Nina was very quiet now, sitting
there, her cheeks flushed, smiling, but as though she were thinking of
something quite different.

Some one proposed that we should play "Petits Cheveaux." We gathered
around the table, and soon every one was laughing and gambling.

Only once I looked up and saw that Markovitch was gazing at Vera; and
once again I looked at Vera and saw that she was staring before her,
seeing nothing, lost in some vision--but it was not of Markovitch that
she was thinking....

I was the first to leave--I said good-night to every one. I could hear
their laughter as I waited at the bottom of the stairs for the Dvornik
to let me out.

But when I was in the street the world was breathlessly still. I walked
up the Prospect--no soul was in sight, only the scattered lamps, the
pale snow, and the houses. At the end of the Canal I stopped. The
silence was intense.

It seemed to me then that in the very centre of the Canal the ice
suddenly cracked, slowly pulled apart, leaving a still pool of black
water. The water slowly stirred, rippled, then a long, horned, and scaly
head pushed up. I c